


The Lady Is a Tramp

by Filigranka



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complicated Relationships, F/F, Happy Endings! Happy Endings For (almost) Everybody!, I mean let's be honest TROS won't end like this ;), Manipulation, Swearing, Torture, nobody is nice here, yeah let's just call it "complicated"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21803599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka
Summary: It's the simplest possible story. The First Order has something of theirs. They want it back.Imagine this fic as Tarantino-style film. Just with less blood.
Relationships: Armitage Hux's Mother/Maratelle Hux
Comments: 12
Kudos: 21
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2019





	The Lady Is a Tramp

**Author's Note:**

  * For [callmelyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmelyss/gifts).



> I've just missed reveals deadline, I know, but I also have witnesses that I really truly had it written and finished for this exchange - and it was a busy week which didn't allow me to one last edit which stopped me. ;) So I think it belongs here and you can forgive me these 13 hours. 
> 
> <3 <3 <3 
> 
> I totally love you and _them_. Maratelle isn't a Senator here, but I hope the amount of sweet-talking, manipulation and little politics will be high enough for you to enjoy.

‘Maz! Auntie!’

After a thousand years old life, nobody would blame Maz if she stopped recognizing the voices of all her “friends” and the shady creatures which had passed through her bar. But this voice she had heard often enough in the last few decades.

‘We were so sorry, so shocked to hear about what has happened to your castle, Auntie.’ Maratelle leaned and kissed her cheeks, seven times; Lenaia just smiled and made a curtsy. Both were rather old customs and this itself was enough to brighten Maz’s humour – which, of course, suggested Maratelle and Lena came with some sort of request. ‘But I see the rebuilding is going well?’

‘Well, the castle had been in dire need of some renovation and some décor changing, but you know how attached to things I am. They can stay with me for centuries… Unlike people.’

Both Maratelle and Lenaia wore black, albeit in very different fashion: a tight dress from a lightly shining fabric, with a deep cut of transparent black lace on Maratelle’s black, (allowing her thick hair to contrast with the pale skin); and meters upon meters of luxurious fabrics, tulle, organdie and organza for Lenaia, creating a huge, stiff circle around her, hiding her face and blonde, almost-white hair behind the veils. It presented a very spectacular image of sadness and Maz wondered if they came to her before or after a meeting with someone who was grieving Hosnian Prime’s destruction. They weren’t the type to mourn it themselves – unless someone from their extended family died there. She should check.

‘We’re so glad you see it this way! Always the ray of sunshine in the shadows of the underworld. Brightening things up.’

‘It’s easier to see things clearly in the light, indeed.’

‘And to find the answers,’ added Lenaia.

‘Those who seek wisdom will always find a lot in Takodana castle. More than they were prepared for, sometimes.’

‘We’re but mere businesswomen and adventurers. Wisdom is too high a word for us.’ They both bowed their heads slightly, pictures of pure humility.

Maratelle opened her mouth to speak again, but Lenaia interrupted her. ‘We need just one answer. Which one of your guests betrayed your trust and brought this… disorder to your house? We’re sure you investigated the matter.’

‘They apologised already.’

‘Please, tell us they’re still alive, Aunt dear.’

‘They apologised _nicely_.’

‘Oh, good for them!’

‘And for us,’ added Lenaia. ‘Maz, Lady of Takodana, Queen of the Smugglers, I’m sure you know what we would like to ask for.’

‘You’re not exactly subtle. What I don’t know is why I should give it to you. They apologised. I forgave them.’

Maratelle put her left hand over her heart. ‘Aunt, if you think we come to you, in your hour of need, empty-handed and without the resources to help you, I – I think I might be a little offended.’

‘I’m blessed with quite deep treasure vaults. More than half of the galaxy underworld offered me their help. It’s far from my hour of need, child. But I’ll gladly accept your _gifts_.’

‘Then tell us what you want.’ Lenaia sounded irritated and this surprised Maz. Usually, it was Maratelle who displayed the whole range of overdramatic emotions. ‘Let’s make it quick. We need someone with contacts in the military branch of the First Order. Civilian and recruitment departments doesn’t interest us. Whoever gave them the intel which led to… the renovation of your castle, must have an open line straight to someone near High Command. Hacking into it seems like the fastest route, but if you have any other ideas, we’re always willing to listen.’

Maz’s brows rose. Perhaps they had lost someone on Hosnian Prime. She _had_ to check.

‘Fighting with the First Order now? Or for them? I thought you’re not interested in politics?’

‘We’re not, absolutely not. Don’t worry, Auntie. We are not going to sully the family name with this commoners’ business.’

‘They have something of mine,’ Lenaia’s voice was suddenly very serious; her fingers touched the little vial full of what looked like eternally flowing blood. ‘I want it back.’

‘We’re not going to charge them an interest rate, even!’ Maratelle almost sang.

‘And you think it will be enough for them to give you… this something… back willingly?’

‘We’re not planning on giving them a choice. I _want it_ _back_. Dearly.’

Maz sighed. She should probably mention a thing or two to them – the First Order is a huge organization, did you see their weapons, do you even have a plan? – but ah, these girls usually knew what they were doing. And there was a rare steel in Lena’s voice. Perhaps following this story would be not only profitable, but also interesting. At Maz’s age, “interesting” was a priceless currency.

‘Nobody can connect me with this.’

Maratelle and Lenaia nodded.

‘I’m accepting all your generous gifts, like I said. And you, my dear,’ Maz pointed her finger in the Lena’s direction ‘will share with me the recipe for this delicious crunchy nut cake of yours. Along with its optional surprise. Do we have a deal?’

Bazine knew serious poisoning when she saw one. When the antidotes she had taken did nothing, when she couldn’t eat a slice of bread without violent vomit, when she found dozens of her hairs fallen out on the pillow – she knew it wasn’t “serious poisoning” anymore, it was an “assassination attempt”. Possibly successful.

She wasn’t surprised much, then, when these two appeared at her hotel bed, presumably with the sympathy and the vague allusion to cure. No mention of the price, which irritated Bazine greatly. Even in a non-dying state, she preferred straightforwardness.

‘I’m afraid I might not have time for all these— _bullshit_ —courtesies.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, dear.’

The women hadn’t introduced themselves; Bazine didn’t expect them to. The one talking now, doing most of the talking, actually, was a petite brunette with strangely bright eyes. ‘You’ve still a week ahead of you. At least. A week! Plenty of time for courtesies and, ah, reflection. Making important choices, too.’

‘Choices like helping you?’

The woman tsked. ‘Oh-oh, youth of today, so presumptuous! Was I like this, I wonder… Le?’

The last word was apparently aimed at her acquaintance, because the second woman smiled – even from behind the veils Bazine noticed the warmth of her expression – and answered: 

‘You’re still much worse.’

‘Ah, I’ve no right to complain, then.’ The brunette turned her head back to Bazine. ‘But, my dear, what made you think we need your help? I’d say you it’s more like you need ours.’

Bazine sat on the bed, furious. The movement caused another wave of nausea, and she fell back on the pillows. She flashed her teeth at the intruders.

‘I killed—’

‘—many of those who talked down to you? A foolish custom. You still need our help in getting the cure... It won’t be an instantaneous one. Threatening us may only lead to your death in an even worse… predicament. If I were you, I’d wonder what reward I could offer such nice and resourceful women like us for their trouble. Making antidotes for personally tailored poisons is not cheap.’

Bazine scowled. ‘Just tell me.’

Brunette sighed. She probably planned to blossom into another little speech, but the second one suddenly cut the chase:

‘The First Order has something of mine. I want it back. You have the direct line to someone with the direct line straight to their military command. Do I need to draw you a diagram?’

‘You don’t understand what you’re doing,’ Despite her words, Bazine had dialled her contact, informing them of an “failed attempt at poisoning her,” perhaps done by the Resistance. ‘Trying to hack into the First Order military network? It’s insane.’

‘Our slicers are very good at their jobs. They already hacked your little friend. Now, as you have been so kind to notice, we just need an… activator. A reason for them to call the First Order with an alarm… a lead… and plant a little bit of code with their transmission. We know quite well what we’re doing. But I’m touched by your concern.’

‘Don’t worry about us,’ said “Le” or however she was really named. She was taking out, playing, hiding and pulling out again the vial of blood-like substance from her dress. ‘We’re gonna disappear from your life soon. Leaving you with more than enough of the antidote. You’ll be fine in no time.’

‘Although I predict a great deal of health trouble for you in the coming decades, unless you change your diet and lifestyle…’

‘You don’t know what the First Order is. They will crush you.’ _And me, if they’ll realise I helped you_.

Bazine’s throat tightened. But the brunette just laughed – and it was a rare kind of viciousness in this laughter, rare enough to made Bazine believe her when she spoke next.

‘Oh, dear, dear. I know what the First Order was, what it is, what it dreams to become, and why they’ll fail. Intimately.’

‘The A-grade student send to some backwater planet to check upon a sick mercenary? Oh, how the mighty have fallen!’

Opan wasn’t an emotional man, quite the contrary. And yet when he recognised the voice, his pulse quickened. If asked, he would say it was pragmatism – any disruption in the Order’s chain of command, especially considering the General, could endanger his own position.

But deep down he suddenly, if only for a moment, became a young boy again, admiring the young wife of the previous frightening General from afar and listening to scary rumours about her with a batted breath. They said even the General were afraid of her. They said she had killed his aide once, because the poor soldier saw her without makeup or perhaps _en dessous_. They said she liked hunting, placing the kind of emphasis on the last word which made young cadets shiver.

‘I took a personal interest in the matter,’ he answered calmly, not turning his head; he wasn’t sure if he was ready to face all the memories. ‘It’s rare for experienced, talented mercenaries to get poisoned.’ And Bazine, with her wicked smile fascinated him… perhaps a little too personally. ‘They usually know how to protect themselves.’

‘Academy labs hid many secrets and Lena received a very thorough education in herbology. You would be surprise how many potent chemicals grow on the fields of the Rims’ planet.’

Lena. He didn’t know any “Lena,” but either way he had bad feelings about this. He turned, his hand placed close to the blaster.

Oh. Oh. Mrs Hux looked almost exactly like when he had left the Academy – there was some stillness in her face which suggested a generous use of hyaluronic pen and other aesthetic medicinal products, but nonetheless the effect was splendid, emphasised by the navy blue jumpsuit with its dramatic cut. The other women, this Lena probably, stood behind her, veiled, tulle-d and embraced by what looked like a few months wages – Core wage – amount of dark fabrics.

‘I know,’ he said, slowly. ‘We found many interesting things in the Unknown Regions, too. Not without price and sacrifices. The old – Brendol was one of them – a part of some planet’s flora or fauna poisoned him. He suffered a great deal before he died. If it’s revenge you seek…’

‘Knowing all of you are a part of the organisation created by this coward and have been suffering his impotence-fuelled madness for years is sweet enough revenge for me. And for you, Le?’

‘I’m a simple girl. I ended up at the Academy only because my village didn’t manage to gather enough credits for fiscal taxation and I was the best educated worker they could send.’ There was slight exasperation in her voice, like she had told this story a hundred times before. ‘I ain’t giving two fucks about higher class fantasies, revenge, justice, honour or offence. The Order has taken something of mine, something of great sentimental value. You used it poorly, so I’m taking it back, before it becomes completely worthless.’

Opan’s bad feelings started to take more substantial form.

‘Le’s got such a great mind for investments! Who could not love her?’ Maratelle’s voice was sickly sweet. She planted the kiss on Lena’s hand, and then, before Opan had the time to curse himself for getting so easily distracted (to his defence, the organisation was indeed order-like with its approach to erotica!) pulled a blaster out of her ridiculous robes. ‘I could almost forgive my husband this… indiscretion of his. Almost.’

She was aiming the gun straight at Opan’s head and he didn’t need the old Academy rumours to know she wouldn’t miss. But getting shot might be better than the alternative.

‘You… You can’t!’ It would surely destroy his career. ‘It’s… I can bring you something, something… You know. Something sentimental. Holos. Sound and video recordings. Old uniforms. Something.’

Lena – the General’s mother, hell, this was so bad – sighed. She went a few steps to her right, further from the blaster.

‘I just told you.’ Indeed, she had the voice of the healers, he realised, not the famous medicine professors, but the lower personnel: nurses, barber-surgeons, village herbalists. Servants. ‘I ain’t got social capital to spare on higher class bullshit. Holos? Uniforms? What fucking use would I have with these?’

‘Not to mention the holonet is full of his audio and video recordings.’ Maratelle rolled her eyes. ‘Red light, Hosnian system kaboom-ing, pathetic speech – pardon, Le, but it really, really was– and all that jizz. You could put big bold shining REWARD MONEY sign over his head. No mother could deny her son the fate of galaxy ruler, but no mother also could watch him becoming the galaxy’s scapegoat. Now, boy, will you be an A-grade student and give us all answers, or will we have to repeat the lesson about interrogation with you?’

Opan wasn’t sure if his fingers twitched or if he just fell silent for too long – either way, Maratelle shot. His right arm burnt. He tried to grab his blaster, instinctively, but after the next shot it flew out of his hand.

There was pain, white and overwhelming. He didn’t notice falling on the ground, but the next conscious moment, he was lying on it. Maratelle was kneeling over him. She pushed the barrel – lightly, for now – into his wound. Opan gritted his teeth so hard he thought he heard the enamel breaking.

‘Lena hates the shots. She prefers the traditional way. An axe straight into the head, skinning and quartering et cetera. A little too messy for me, I admit, but I’ve been always a city girl… Tsk, tsk.’ She pushed the barrel deeper and his eyes flew open. ‘It’s not polite to get distracted while a lady is talking.’

If Opan came back so quickly, insisting on the private meeting immediately, then, Hux supposed, the situation really was serious. Critical, perhaps. But it wasn’t a reason to let go of the basic security protocols, and so he waited for his aide with a blaster in hand, standing next to the alarm bell and hiding the stun grenade at the belt.

Not that they helped him at all, when at the door, instead of Opan, appeared the wife of his damn father. Armitage gasped, gulped and almost said “sorry,” wanting to jump under the first flat surface, like he would have done as a child if she had caught him in her rooms.

‘Armie! Honey!’ She came closer, opening her arms and ignoring the aimed blaster in Hux’s hand. Her heels were high, thin and seemingly sharp enough to leave holes in the durasteel floor. Click-click-click. He recognised her smile, taken straight from official banquets. ‘Is it really you? You’re so tall …’

He opened his mouth. Closed it. He wasn’t sure how to call her. “Aunt?” “Step-mother?” “Mrs. General?” She must have understood his silence, because her smile became wider.

‘Oh, call me “Maratelle," dear, please. Everything else would make me feel _ancient_.’

‘I killed my father.’ To her credit, she didn’t try to take his weapon, she just rolled her eyes, lowered her arms, and was standing here, in the middle of his military base, dressed in silks, stilettos and jewellery. ‘He suffered before dying. Greatly. If you want his…’ He trailed off.

What exactly could Maratelle want? His father’s personal belongings Armitage had destroyed, justifying the action by dressing it up in words about burning down the past and personal attachments, not worthy of the First Order.

‘Really? Thank you, especially for the “suffering” part. Now, take the most important technology data, say “goodbye” to this nice dreadnaught and go. You’ll tell me everything aboard our ship. We don’t have time.’

Armitage still wasn’t surprised. Maratelle always had been crazy.

‘It’s _my_ nice dreadnaught. I’m not leaving it. Tell me why are you here and I’ll see what I can do to accommodate you – I’m sure our older officers would be delighted to assist you in a little sightseeing–’

‘Mhm, I’m sure, especially Peavey. He always liked looking deeply into my big _eyes_. And lower. Sweetheart, if it’s about your favourite plushie – wait, you’re too old for plushies now, aren’t you? so, your favourite droid – we can get it, of course, do a little detour on our way for the files…’

‘I’m not selling any intel to you. I’m not going. But if you want to shoot Peavey for some past offences, it could be arranged.’

‘Tempting offer, but we really don’t have – oh. Would you mind guiding me to your father’s grave, please? I’d like to desecrate his corpse.’

‘I’m really sorry, but it’s impossible.’ It was one of the most honest statements of Hux’s life. ‘There’s no corpse. His body blew up and dissolved, his organs melted… There wasn’t enough for a proper urn, even.’

‘Brilliant! You know how to please a woman, my little perfect gentlebeing! Now, _go_.’

‘I told you, I’m not…’

‘Tashie?’

His face turned to the door against his will – some part of him knew it was a trap and he so very, very much didn’t want it to be true.

But of course it was, so the last thing he registered before the darkness, was his mother saying 'I’m so sorry.’

All had gone nice and smoothly and so they both deserved a drink. Or two even. Two now, and two more when they landed on her family summer asteroid – yes, perfect, decided Maratelle.

‘Do you want a shot, Le?’ She already had two glasses full of green mixture in her hand.

‘No, thanks,’ Lena sighed.

She was sitting near the bed of this little hysterical brat like he was dying, not just sleeping under the narcotics. It was terribly rude of him to force two women to drag his body all the way to the hangar – and avoid being seen to boot! Really, if not for good intel, taking a transport droid, and slicking half their damn ship, they might not have made it. And he didn’t even put _that_ interesting data in his personal datapad!

The vial – the amulet, the blood of _her son_ (Maratelle would have to get used to these words: Lena’s son, Le’s son, their son, not Brendol’s brat, not anymore) preserved in the mixture of the superfluid – was lying still in Lena’s hand, her knuckles white around it.

They didn’t need it now, of course. Although considering how thin and pale this brat was, perhaps there wouldn’t be enough even for a vial.

‘I’m terribly afraid,’ announced Le.

Maratelle was too. But she was also a polite woman, and Lena had more reasons to be in crisis. It was time to pull herself together.

‘I made sure everything in our guest house is ready. It’s a remote asteroid, belonging to our family for generations. No one except our guests has set foot on it in ages. I ordered the closing of all information channels, except for the familial emergency one. The rest of the usual crew is too afraid of Maz. Nobody will get us there, Le. ‘

‘I don’t doubt our safety. I was thinking about...’ Lena trailed off and made a vague gesture with her free hand. ‘Well. Our. Mine and his. You know. Er. Family relationship. A little strained, I suppose.’

In Maratelle’s opinion it was probably more like “non-existent,” except for this blood in the vial. But it was something absolutely inappropriate to divulge. One should show some empathy.

‘It might be a little hard at the beginning, I agree, but—’

‘He will be so fucking angry when he wakes up.’

‘Then you will just slap him and remind him to treat his mother with the respect she deserves.’ Maratelle aimed for light, joking tone, but it apparently didn’t work, because the gaze Lena threw her was full of distress.

‘I haven’t seen him in thirty years! I already shot him! I cannot start by slapping him!’

‘Why not? He left you.’

Instead of laughing, Le sighed heavily.

‘He was five. He was hardly leaving of his own volition.’

‘At least he’s accustomed to be being kidnapped. He should recover quickly. Listen, there’s no need to think about all of this now. Get a drink and relax. You said you wanted him back, so he’s here. Not the best time for second thoughts.’

‘I’m not having any second thoughts!’ Lena sounded borderline hysterical.

This was unsettling. Normally, she had the sober, rational personality of the... the hard-working people. It had been very useful when they were both escaping from Arkanis and later, and now Maratelle felt almost betrayed and jealous.

‘Le...’

‘I’m afraid my son is going to _hate me_ , Marati. Hate me. My son. Could you stop... Can you even imagine this?’

It would be extremely ungrateful of him, but Maratelle doubted this is what Lena needed to hear now.

‘Nonsense. He will be happy to discover you still remember and love him. We’ll just give him some meds and alcohol when he wakes up, to... ease the transition, and everything will be all right.’

‘You imply my son would need to be intoxicated to bear my presence.’

Well, it wasn’t unheard of in the Elder Houses – and not only in there, most of the galaxy’s cultures involved heavy drinking and intoxication as part of their family meeting rituals.

‘Of course not! I mean it as a prophylactic! “Moving out” is on the list of the most stressful, mental problem-triggering life events.’

‘So now it’s “moving out”, not “kidnapping”?’

‘Kidnapping usually involves a change of address. Le, he might have problems with adjusting to the non-military life, I agree, but at least he’ll have some life to have problems with. He would lose it, if he stayed in that... Brendol’s club. We—you…’ for once, Maratelle aimed for a serious tone, ‘…saved his life.’

Lena nodded. Stayed silent for a long moment, before stating, the certainty in her voice rising with every word:

‘He will be fucking furious and alive. Better this than dead and grateful. But damn, I’m sure he’s going to make it hell for us.’ Her fond smile softened the words. She reached to Armitage – her son’s hand, slowly, hesitantly, and finally took his palm. Moved her thumb over his knuckles. ‘I remember Brendol, after all.’

‘He’s not Brendol. He’s your son. Which, forgive me, Le, makes me _more_ concerned. You’re terrifying when angry. Still, I’m sure papa will be happy to acquire another grandkid.’ Maratelle did her best to keep the emotions out of her voice. ‘We’re not the only troubled family in the galaxy. Look at the Skywalkers. No matter how many… inconvenient habits he has, we’re going to work it out.’

‘Yes,’ agree Lena, easily this time, and finally took the drink, entangling her and Maratelle’s fingers over the glass, keeping it there. Maratelle suddenly recalled another harsh evening, decades ago, with the Academy and the city burning around them, and the two of them, completely drunk of on the Academy’s best “for important visitors only” alcohol, plotting their survival and revenge. ‘We always are.’

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to E. who was my beta! <3


End file.
